


Broiled Catbread

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [38]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murray wants flowers. He needs common sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broiled Catbread

**Author's Note:**

> Totally stole the plot from Valis2, with permission, before she got her version written.  
> Thanks for the friendly bunny!

The back deck was cool in the afternoon heat and Ted sat in the shade sipping iced tea. He’d dug the flowerbeds for Murray in the cool of the morning, turning the soil and pulling weeds, but it was too hot for him now. Murray was still in the yard planting his lavender bushes along the fence, a long sleeved t-shirt protecting his back and arms, his hat pulled down over his eyes. The sun beat down on his skinny legs as he knelt in the grass and it was his legs that kept drawing Ted’s eyes. After all these years, he still went weak at the sight of those long, flexible legs. If Ted were just a little younger, or the day not quite so hot, he’d be out there pretending to help just to be closer to Murray’s limber body and busy, nimble hands.

“Hey, kid,” he called. “Come up here and have a drink. You gotta be getting hot.”

“Just a minute, Lieutenant. I’m almost done.” He sounded a little out of breath but when he turned to wave at Ted his smile was as pure and sweet as ever.

“I’m gonna go get another book. You come in before you get too hot.”

“Yes, sir,” Murray called back and went on digging holes for the lavender with his little trowel.

Ted went inside and put away the paperback he’d just finished. It took him a while to find another. He’d read his mysteries and Westerns a hundred times and was in the mood for something new. Murray had a shelf of gay literature, some of it hardcore erotica and some that he claimed was just good writing with gay characters. Ted selected one of the latter, a romance between two boys that Murray had cried over and assured him still had a happy ending.

He tucked it under his arm and went into the kitchen for a fresh glass of iced tea. The one outside was nothing but melted ice anyway, and maybe this would get Murray to take a break. He took a sip and started for the back door, but before he made it the phone rang. Ted put the book and the glass on the counter and picked up the cordless handset. He’d been hoping for a call from his friend Bill about a quick construction job next weekend. One of the cops was putting a new deck on his house and the chosen crew would get twenty dollars an hour and all the beer they could drink. Though Ted wasn’t on the force anymore he was still part of the group, and no one had forgotten his skill with a hammer and saw.

Bill had a lot of news to share, gossip about old friends and old rivals, bits about cases he was working and one that was proving tougher than he’d expected. Ted knew a couple of the suspects from his days on the street and it turned into a long consultation on tactics and angles of approach. It was exciting being part of an active investigation again and Bill was eager to hear what he had to say.

By the time he hung up the phone Ted had drunk the iced tea and had to go to the bathroom. Later he couldn’t say how long he was in the house before he filled the glass again and finally went outside. Squinting against the sun, he set the glass on the little round table and put the book beside it.

“Murray? Come on into the shade for a minute,” he called as he straightened up. Then his eyes focused and he saw that Murray wasn’t at the back fence anymore. There was only a neat row of lavender plants to show where he’d been. He turned to the other flowerbed in progress, the one by the north fence separating their lawn from Debbie and Jane’s, where he had turned half the soil before retreating to the deck. Murray had several flats of pansies and related flowers—violets, violas, Johnny jump ups—that he wanted to put there. And that was where Ted finally spotted him, lying face down near the flats, one hand still wrapped around the shovel Ted had left leaning against the fence.

“Murray?” he called again, his voice strangled, choked with fear. “Oh, Jesus, _Murray_.” Ted stumbled down the steps to the grass, a hundred thoughts racing across his mind. Murray was skinny and healthy, but he was still over fifty. He could have had a heart attack. Even a stroke, working out here in this heat. Someone could have snuck up on him while Ted was in the house and put a serious hurt on him in silence. For that matter, he might have finally tripped and broken his neck after years of narrow avoidance.

Ted ran across the lawn as fast as he could, stumbling and staggering on the uneven ground, his own seventy-something heart pounding as if it would burst. He fell to his knees by Murray’s side, pushed the shovel away, and rolled the bony body of his husband into his lap. His fingers went automatically to Murray’s throat where his pulse was weak, fast and thready like a man in shock. Ted peeled back his eyelids, saw his eyes twitching and rolling, felt the back of his head for blood or any kind of lump. 

Only after he’d done these most basic things did he grasp what was right in front of him. Murray’s skin was dry and papery white, totally lacking any trace of the sweat or flushed color one would expect on a day like this. Even his hair was dry under his hat. For a few seconds Ted sat there stunned, his hand cupping Murray’s pale cheek, before scrambling into action. He gathered Murray in his arms and tried to rise, something he’d done easily just—well, it was probably at least two years ago. His knees creaked alarmingly and something twinged in his back. This was no good. He couldn’t help Murray if he dislocated his knee or slipped a disc halfway across the yard.

“Shit,” he hissed, then bowed and kissed Murray’s forehead. “Not you, baby. I love you.” Ted eased him back down into the grass and laid Murray’s hat over his face to shield him from the sun. This time he was able to stand and took a quick survey of the neighbors’ yards. Deb and Jane were away for the weekend, but he saw Mike setting up sprinklers on his own lawn and called to him in a barely controlled shout.

Mike turned, a tall young man with a straw hat shading his bald head, and Ted waved him over frantically. Without pausing to ask stupid questions, Mike dropped his hose and vaulted over the two board fences between them, crossing the lawns like a sprinter.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching down opposite Ted.

“Heat stroke,” Ted said quickly. “Can you help me get him inside? I can’t—I can’t pick him up.”

“Yeah, I got him.” Mike scooped up Murray’s body with an ease that gave Ted a little twinge of jealousy before he got his mind back on track. “Where are we going?”

“Let’s get him in the tub. If he doesn’t come to in a couple minutes I’ll call for help.” He led the way back to the house and into the bathroom, his heart twisting as Mike lowered Murray into the tub, another job that should have been his. He crowded Mike out of the way the second he was able, asked for the hand towel from the rack by the sink, and then ordered Mike to the kitchen for Gatorade or some kind of juice. 

As Ted spoke, he turned on the cold water and began working at Murray’s belt. The water level rose slowly and he got Murray’s shorts off before they were completely soaked. Silly kid always had things in his pockets that he wouldn’t want to get wet. Ted turned the hot water knob until the flow was not quite lukewarm and then switched it to shower. Cool water rained down on Murray’s still body, wetting his dry shirt and shaggy hair, little trickles running down his face like tears. Ted soaked the hand towel and wiped Murray’s forehead tenderly, ran it over his cheeks, pressed it lightly to the pulse point at the base of his throat, still bruised from last night.

Two seemingly endless minutes went by, Ted’s wristwatch marking each long second with a mocking tick, before Murray’s long lashes began to flutter.

“Murray? Baby, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Without speaking, Murray braced his hands on the slick bottom of the tub and tried to push himself up. Ted guessed the hard edge was grinding his bones and slipped his arm around Murray’s neck, supporting and cradling him as the cool water rained down on them both. Murray’s spine flexed in a quick spasm that raised Ted’s fear to new heights and he called for Mike in a near panic. His friend was there almost before the echo died away. He must have been right outside the door already.

Murray’s body spasmed again as Mike knelt down by the tub and handed over the bottle of Gatorade.

“Is he conscious?”

“I’m not sure. I think so. Sort of. Baby, can you hear me?”

Murray’s back arched again and his head struck Ted’s collarbone painfully. It might have been an accident but at the same time, he turned his head toward Ted’s neck and uttered a tiny moan.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he murmured, raising the bottle to Murray’s lips. “Drink this for me. Nice and slow, just drink a little.”

Murray tipped his head back and sipped, letting the water fall on his face, on his closed eyes, mixing with the orange Gatorade that spilled from the corners of his mouth. Ted took the bottle away several times and each time he did, Murray licked his lips, breathed shallowly for a few seconds, and then signaled with a twitch of his head for more. Mike knelt beside them and used his hands to scoop water over Murray’s legs, while Ted poured the Gatorade cautiously down his throat.

The frightening spasms had stopped and Murray’s skin was all over gooseflesh when he finally opened his eyes. The tub was half full and Mike switched the water back to the faucet rather than turning it off. Murray saw him move and turned his head slowly for a better look, blinking helplessly without his glasses. Ted hadn’t even thought to pick them up off the lawn.

“Lieutenant?” he whispered, squinting blankly.

“I’m right here. How’re you feeling?”

“Okay, I think. I’m kind of thirsty. And I don’t think I’m wearing pants. Where are my glasses, Ted? What happened?”

“You passed out trying to turn over the flowerbed, moron. What the hell were you thinking? I told you twice to come inside and have a drink. Jesus, Bozinsky, you almost died. What’s the matter with you?” He was crying long before he finished and Murray, properly chastened, threw his arms around Ted’s neck and wept with him.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to save you some of the work. It was my idea, I’m the one who wanted flowers, and you were doing all the work…I just wanted to help.”

“Hey, guys?” Mike said quietly. “I’m gonna go look for Murray’s glasses. Want me to bring another Gatorade?”

“Yeah, please,” Ted sniffled shamefully, and then decided not to be ashamed. He’d told the truth. Murray _had_ almost died and he bet Mike would be just as unmanned if it was _his_ spouse unconscious in a bathtub.

“I’m sorry, Ted. I just didn’t notice how long it was and—and then I got tired, _really_ tired, and I thought if I just sat down for a minute I’d feel better, but suddenly I felt so weak I just—it was like I didn’t care anymore. I was too hot but I felt so weak, I just didn’t care.”

“I know, baby,” he said gently, once they were alone. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. You had heatstroke or sunstroke or something. Just lie still and cool off.”

“I’m cool enough,” Murray said. But he didn’t object when Ted shifted him in the tub and lowered Murray’s shoulders into the water. He laid a hand on Murray’s forehead and frowned.

“Not quite. You’re body temperature’s still high.” He heard Mike’s footsteps outside the door and laid the hand towel between Murray’s thighs, covering his vulnerable area from prying eyes. Murray relaxed a little and smiled up at him.

“It feels good,” he murmured, closing his eyes again. When Mike came back with more Gatorade, green this time, Murray was able to take it in his hands and hold it for himself. He drank half the quart bottle and belched comfortably. 

After a while Mike went home, having extracted a promise from Ted that he would call if they needed help. Murray lay in Ted’s cradling embrace, sipping his reinvigorating beverage for a very long time. 

His flowers were waiting, but it would be evening soon. Ted made up his mind to finish digging the soil in the evening cool and let Murray plant them under the yard lights. The flowers would be in the ground by morning, and more important, Murray would be with him tonight.


End file.
